And Many a Knot Unravel'd by the Road
by bluntforcedrama
Summary: Spock has made a habit of letting his Captain evade him. He puts an end to it tonight, on the back of Jim's vintage Harley. Jim/Spock. Spoilers for Star Trek: Into Darkness.


******Fandom**: ___Star Trek (Alternate Universe Era)_

******Pairing**: ___James Tiberius Kirk/Spock_

******Rating**: ___T_

******A/N**: ___I've fallen headlong in love with Kirk and Spock, and sticking them on the back of a Harley felt (wait for it... ) logical. Unbeta'd, as I'm sort of toeing at the water with writing. At any rate, please enjoy my first contribution. The title is derived from one of my favourite quatrains of Omar Khayyám's Rubaiyat._

**And Many a Knot Unravel'd by the Road**

The wind is a little cool for the month of April on Earth, and though the pavement still gives up the heat it's collected during the warmth of the day, the brisk, star-filled San Francisco night air is manipulated violently around our heroes as they speed down the new loop on a vintage 2230 Super Glide Custom, tangerine, complete with ape hangers, custom chrome fittings, and an engine that growls like a fully grown Sehlat.

It's a lot like being on a starship, really. The vastness of space hanging heavily above them is easy to feel, unprotected by glass or transparisteel panels. Spock feels, for all of the Vulcan racing through his veins, the human struggle of being both small in the universe and pregnant with potential and power and feeling. Jim's death and subsequent resurrection have taken his emotional instability, and lack of ability to tamp it down for the sake of dignity and professionalism off the charts and he feels the heat in his blood. He feels the slow, rumbling brontide of his emotions, every silken thread of his thought as of late devoted to sea beryl blue eyes, long lashes, blonde hair, and an entire galaxy of light freckles smattered against the pinkest of cheeks.

Now scarcely able to recall the placement of wrinkles and the exact color of his mother's eyes, he spent no less than two weeks memorizing the features of his Captain, both in medbay and the hospital, wishing to never take advantage of truly knowing someone dear to him again.

And so as it goes that what should feel like a reckless and shamefully vulnerable need to be near his ever volatile and seemingly distant Captain, begins to feel a lot like falling in love.

* * *

Spock is among the latest to discover that being Russian, Ensign Chekov, who is bartending, has a tendency to be particularly heavy-handed with the chocolate liqueur, and after getting down only half of his chocolate martini, he finds himself riding the lift at Starfleet Headquarters to the Research Wing's atrium to air out a bit.

His eyes rove over a photo booth strip from the benefit downstairs, a frivolous party attraction intended to amuse guests and officers alike. In the first frame, he and Lieutenant Uhura form a blur, unprepared for the flash. In the second, Spock wears a pair of gaudy gold sunglasses and a top hat with his Starfleet uniform, Uhura, dressed in a one-shouldered black gown and her long, silky hair spilling over her shoulders wearing an Earthling bride's veil, and they pose like newlyweds. In the third frame, Spock has divested himself of the foolish favors and averts his eyes, and Uhura kisses his cheek holding up a "cutesy" sign reading "To Boldly Go...". In the fourth, both face the camera and offer their smiles, Uhura's radiant and lively, Spock's barely there, but warm. He can still feel where her lips touched his ear as they slipped out of the booth, whispering "Put it by your bed and think of me."

He knows she means to be sensual, to rekindle the spark of companionship, now that she believes the storm has passed, that he's evened out after the events on board the dying Enterprise. She has been resilient and strong in the face of certain death in ways he secretly wishes he could be, but he doesn't know how to express how deep the order for repairs goes, not just on their ship, but in his own faulty wiring.

When he reaches the top, a sense of comfort washes over him. The atrium is a popular spot for meditation and study, and pleasantly devoid of cadets this time of night. Beneath the high balcony, the soiree continues, the sound of glasses and the hum of conversation morphing into one giant buzzing organism.

As he walks along the wet condensation of the winding cobblestone pathways past the fountains and water features, he notices a uniform jacket like his own draped over a nearby bench, and follows the still damp footsteps to the opposite balcony, where his Captain, who by all rights should be downstairs entertaining the party with his charismatic anecdotes and flirting eyes, and is instead shooting unsuspecting party-goers with maraschino cherries through an oversized novelty cocktail straw.

Spock remains at a distance while he calculates the chances that his company will result in awkwardness. Things have been a little... _weird_ since the hospital, all interaction consisting of, for a while, quiet chess games during Jim's recovery, and then later, signing off on reports, covert glances over breakfast and tense physical brushes in close quarters as they oversee the repairs in Engineering. Jim's already felt him though, curiously, and turns around to reveal eyes haloed by dark circles and unusually pale skin.

"Your old lady's looking pretty good tonight, Spock. Why you're up here bothering me instead of showing her off, I'll never know," he drawls. Spock analyzes his statement for a moment, wondering what constitutes Uhura as "old" in his eyes, and steps forward.

"Nyota is quite visually appealing. I simply desired fresh air, and this was a logical choice. If my presence distracts, I will remove myself from your proximity," he states, but doesn't move.

Another cherry is launched, and a younger woman in a cocktail dress yelps in surprise, brushing cherry guts off of her breast and looking around for the culprit. Jim's eyes crinkle with boyish mischief, but he doesn't laugh.

"I am also surprised to find you up here so far removed from all of the women you could be convincing to spend the night with you," Spock says casually. Jim snorts and dumps the rest of the cherries over the balcony, seemingly unaware of the shouts that result.

"I liked you so much better when you were quiet, you know that? Oh, right! You never were." But Jim's smile is genuine, if haunted. He claps a hand on Spock's shoulder. "I was actually thinking about leaving. Bones says I can't drink yet with all these damn melatonin shots he's pushing on me, so all of this shit's kinda lost on me."

"With all due respect Captain, is it not socially unwise to desert a function where you yourself are being honored on the eve of your own ship's re-christening?"

Jim's laugh is somewhat tender, bittersweet, and he spends just a moment looking over Spock, as if he's taking in the last moments Spock will ever call him 'Captain'.

"She isn't mine anymore. Turned my papers in this afternoon. Bones signed off on the medical forms. I guess the board won't see them until morning."

The admission comes with the blunt force of a fist to the temple. For a good sixteen seconds, Spock isn't sure quite what to say. The Enterprise is Jim's destiny. She is, and always has been meant for him, and he speaks to her in wholly organic ways most of the crew accepts but doesn't quite understand.

"Captain -"

"Not anymore."

"I beg you to reconsider your decision. It is my opinion that you are reacting rashly in light of your recent and unique struggle, and while I am aware of Doctor McCoy's Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome diagnosis, idle worry will hurt more than heal."

Jim, sensing a Kobayashi Maru-scale argument brewing, brushes past Spock to gather his jacket, tossing it over his shoulder and never meeting his eyes.

"Pike was right about me, Spock. I just didn't know at the time that the bastard was predicting my own future. I let people die – dozens of them – on my watch. How can I sit in that chair with that on my ledger?"

"With a greater sense of humility, a respect for the lives lost so that we may continue our directive. As you say, 'life goes on'."

Jim just waves him off and makes his way to the lift.

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know, I was thinking SoCal. Seems like a good place for guys like me, who are lazy by nature. Good place for me to become my stereotype."

Spock gives him an adorably quizzical look.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"You know, tan, blonde and blue-eyed. I'll fit right in. Guys like me are a dime a dozen," Jim quirks a self-deprecating smile, and it makes something lurch in Spock's gut.

"Humans place much importance on physical appearance. That being said, to me, you seem quite unique and exotic. I have, with permission to speak freely, never seen anyone quite like you," Spock says easily, his ears only blushing when he sees the way the comment makes Jim's ocean blue eyes widen, a pinkness spreading across his freckled nose. "Of course, I do come from a desert culture dominated by very uniform appearances. The differences between Vulcan appearances are minute and negligible."

Jim obviously doesn't know what to do with the compliment, and tucks it away for later days, willing his feet to move again.

"I'll try to keep in touch. You treat Uhura right, or else. Give her flowers and shit. Girls, they say they don't like it, but they always do." Jim considers going in for a friendly hug, but Spock's eyes are too intense, boring into him, and instead of risking the miasma of guilt that comes with 'goodbye', he just nods and turns, disappearing into the lift.

And just like that, for no apparent reason, Jim Kirk has left him again, he doesn't know what to do with goodbyes, and everything hurts.

* * *

However, Spock is much too intelligent to let things end there, and it takes him all of one point six minutes to race to the lift and run top speed after Jim through the party, through the revolving doors, down the carpeted path to the guest parking lot where Jim straddles his non-standard issue motorcycle and brings the machine to life with a roar that sets off the other, more modern vehicles' alarm systems.

He's close enough now to see Jim's frame shaking as he screams and twists the accelerator furiously, and imagines the gauges going wild. It really is a spectacular emotional display. He watches from a distance again, as Jim tires and the bike idles once more, and he approaches, eyes focusing on the chrome seat back, and reaching for the helmet and pulling apart the velcro of the strap.

"If you plan on riding in your emotional state, I estimate the probability of a head injury is exponentially high," Spock says, holding the helmet out. For a moment, it seems as if Jim will ignore him, but he turns, resignation in his voice, the eyes again over bright, and takes the helmet. His eyes don't meet Spock's, but he looks at the helmet and huffs. The corner of his lip twitches.

"... you're probably right."

Spock watches as he slips the helmet over his delicate human skull, shakes away thoughts of how easily Khan could have shattered it with his bare hands, pushes the fury down, and before he knows what's happening, he's reached into the leather saddle bag for the second helmet and is pulling it down over his ears (with only a little difficulty). He knows without a doubt that letting Jim go will be one of the biggest mistakes of his life, not just for his own confusing, selfish reasons, but for his crew as well. He's overcome with the need to be with Jim, to keep him safe and be there not only for the exhilaration of victory, but for the inevitable failures. He's seen Jim at his best, and at his worst. And he still wants to be his First Officer, his friend.

It seems only logical when he slings his leg over the seat to act, once again, as his loyal co-pilot. He's not sure there's anywhere else he's supposed to be. Jim's voice is muffled by the helmet when he turns to speak.

"... the hell do you think you're doing?"

"It would be unwise for me to allow you to go alone tonight," Spock says simply. Jim considers that for a moment, and the brief, unguarded expression that crosses his face makes it seem like perhaps he's unused to his own welfare being considered, which reveals why Captain Pike's assessment of his recklessness has "hit home", as the humans say. He remembers the late Captain looking out for Jim in ways he didn't necessarily deserve but tried desperately to earn in his own way, and can feel the full force of his grieving, over his makeshift mentor, over his lost crew members, over his Captaincy which he feels it necessary to forfeit.

Jim wraps it all up neatly with a ribbon and bow when he speaks softly.

"I'm going through some shit, Spock. I can't feel responsible for your well-being right now."

So Spock says what he believes to be most true.

"I am confident that you won't let harm befall me."

Jim's eyes still hold trepidation, so Spock makes borrowed use of Jim's own devil-may-care smirk, one he's seen many times during moments of victory. It feels foreign on his lips, like speaking another language for the first time, but it feels good.

"Take me for a ride, Jim."

He puts his feet on the foot pegs at the same time that Jim forces the kick stand back and he feels the immensely heavy bike teeter a couple of times as Jim gets his balance and accelerates, and leans forwards against the wind, against the warmth seeping through Jim's white t-shirt. His large hands find the most logical place to land as they pick up speed, the space right under Jim's ribs, and if it tickles, Jim makes no indication.

Spock sees instantly why Jim likes the bike. It's like the steel embodiment of himself, soulful and pulsing in a time of air transport and the coldness of space. It's fast and loud, and Jim exploits both of these things ruthlessly. There is no room for politeness, for standing on ceremony. Jim's modestly corded arm muscles are taut as he holds onto the handlebars, which make him lean back into Spock's chest, riding slowly until the exit ramp, where he punches it.

The sound is all wind and bike, and his pulse in his ears. Jim skates curves dangerously close to the ground, but they never touch, and even out seamlessly on the straightaways. The silence gives way to fantasy, and Spock can't help imagining Jim working on the machine, making it faster, better, cleaner. His mechanical skill is extensive, despite his reputation for laziness.

Spock's never met anyone who loves to show off as much as Jim Kirk, or anyone who looks as good doing it. Any hope that the attraction he feels is merely physical is permanently dashed with every moment he spends putting the pieces of this deceptively complex human together.

* * *

They end up at a Vietnamese place next door to a bar, and they share a triple order of vegetarian spring rolls (much to the dismay of the avid carnivore of the two of them), and Jim makes up for it by drinking two especially strong coffees to reinstate his manliness. Spock finishes off a cup of sweetened, creamy tea and looks across the booth to where Jim is sprawled in the corner.

His nerves are thrumming from the drive around the city at near breakneck speed, but not from the imminent danger he was probably in. No, he'd never felt safer. The rumbling power of the bike and proximity to Jim had nearly intoxicated him. His hands feel bereft without Jim to hold. He still registers the vibrations from the motor in his chest. But of course, there are other matters to attend to.

"Captain - Jim. I must urge you again to reconsider your decision to leave Starfleet."

When Jim says nothing, and only looks into his coffee where he is swirling chilled cream to make a whirlpool, he continues.

"You will learn and see much in the five years that we are aboard the Enterprise. There will be unprecedented discoveries, and while danger is an occupational hazard, turning down responsibility for your crew by resigning your captaincy will no more ensure you peace of mind than if you held their lives in your hand. Though we are bound not by blood, we share the bonds of family, and they will never be far from your mind."

"Yeah, maybe. But sometimes you gotta accept that running away is okay, Spock," Jim says as he picks a mint leaf from between his teeth, and Spock can tell his heart isn't really in it.

"It is true that there is not always shame in running. But there is always loneliness."

Met with silence again, Spock looks out the window and forces his emotions down, forces himself to accept what _he_ cannot change.

"As you once said to me, I will miss you, Jim."

His rich, soulful brown eyes connect with Jim's, and he doesn't shy away from the intensity, just taking the man in patiently. He makes no effort to conceal the transparency of his feeling, his fondness for everything about his former Captain, laid out like a hand of cards. Jim looks like he wants to speak then, but hesitates and plasters a half-hearted grin on his face.

"Better get you back, then. You've got a big day tomorrow, buddy."

Jim stands from the booth seat and waits for Spock to do the same before walking, maybe a bit slower than usual to the bike, and pulls his helmet from the handlebar, but before he can get it on he turns and smiles at Spock.

"This was surprisingly fun. Wish we could have done it more."

This strong feeling of loss rises again like bile, and something breaks in Spock.

The thought of five years in the cold reaches of space, of only seeing this face as a memory, of Jim moving on with his life to the point that there's no hope even of reconnection shakes him, and it's all he can do to restrain himself enough to not knock the bike over as he pushes Jim against it, effectively wedging him in the groove made by the tank and the handlebar. _This isn't supposed to _happen, he thinks, and Jim stumbles, draping his arm over the handlebar to balance himself, the dusty mirror digging into his ribs. Spock's hands hold him still around the waist as he breathes deeply from the juncture of neck and shoulder, the scent of the wind and the muddling of laundry detergent, light cologne and Jim's uniquely warm and natural identity filling him with a resolve he's never felt. His nose brushes Jim's earlobe as he then moves to bury his nose in the soft, sandy blonde locks behind Jim's ear. He feels Jim tremble in his arms.

"What are you -"

Spock's fingers touch under his white tee, blunt nails dragging along his hip and the smooth waist before reaching for his hand and exploring the ridges and calluses on Jim's hand. The contact does more to Spock than to Jim, and he shudders, pinning Jim roughly against the motorcycle like he's trying to get under his clothes, pressing their lips together in a kiss that quickly becomes filled with playful nips and experimental tongues.

For his part, Jim distantly considers thanking Uhura for any linguistic help she's been giving her boyfriend, because he may be better with his mouth than anyone he's ever met. Spock's touch isn't nearly as measured and scientific as he'd fantasized about on the odd occasion when his brain decided to take a merry roll in a Vulcan gutter, and the fumbling urgency emboldens him to become much less pliant in his arms. He almost can't believe he hasn't had any whiskey.

When Jim pushes against him, Spock pushes back hard, and Jim gives as good as he gets, tangling his fingers in Spock's hair and tugging, and he can't help the sound that escapes. Their bodies push experimentally against each other's, playful and demanding.

When they separate, Jim licks his lips, chasing Spock's taste and soothing the bruises teeth left in their wake. Spock is breathing heavily, eyes boring into him. Jim sees Spock, really _sees _him, this being, who he may know better than anyone else, who survived losing almost everything, who is offering him something he deeply desires. Companionship, purpose, family.

Spock backtracks, almost professionally. It's really quite comical.

"I'm sorry. As you are no longer my Superior, I felt compelled."

"All things considered... "

"... yes?"

Jim takes a deep breath and sighs a laugh, starting again.

"All things _considered_, I may have to withdraw my resignation for the promise of more sexy bike rides."

When Spock's nose crinkles a bit as he fights the smile, Jim really can't recall anything being more lovely.

"It is an impressive machine. I may have to insist that you forgo delaying us from another ride any further or I may lose control and do filthy things to you right here."

Jim feels numb with surprise and arousal, and the groan that bubbles from his chest is sort of embarrassing.

"However, it may be prudent to let you rest so that you can properly see your finished ship tomorrow."

Jim wants to protest, but he sees this for what it is, a promise. And god... his _ship_. His beautiful ship. He can't help but smile and shake his head, disbelieving. A chance to be with his ship. A chance to be with his First Officer. A chance to explore this possibility, and boldly _go, _at their own pace. After all, they've got five years. A soft laugh, and he digs out Spock's helmet before putting his own on and straddling the Harley once more. His heart skips a beat this time, when Spock slides on behind him, this time pressed a bit closer, arms holding on more tightly, and he makes the bike growl as he slides more firmly into the warm space between Spock's thighs. They ride back to Starfleet, and everything seems new. He'll deal with the board in the morning.

Jim doesn't fear.

The horizon's spread out in front of him, and he doesn't have to chase it alone.


End file.
